Coraline 2: the Final Unraveling
by Belac77
Summary: After 17 years, Coraline has forgotten about the Other Mother. After 17 years, the Other Mother has forgotten everything but Coraline. Join familiar faces like Mr. B, Miss Spink, and Wybie Lovat, and meet new zany characters such as Smith and Wesson. Written in the same style as the original book, this sequel will make you remember everything you loved about Coraline.
1. Prologue: Dreams

She was there again. She could feel the cold wind on her face, the rain pounding against her skin, the mud bubbling under her feet. Coraline's sleeping form shivered, just a little.  
During the day, she was strong enough to block these memories from her mind. But at night-those were when things got worse. Those were the times when Coraline relived her horrible encounter with the button-eyes Other Mother.  
She woke up that morning drenched with sweat.


	2. Found

Finley did not find the box in the attic right away. She had always had other things to do then to climb up the musty ladder leading upwards into blackness. Reading, for one thing. Finley liked to read. It helped her to keep her mind from turning to the more depressing thoughts which sometimes rushed in and tried to fill it-and it let her put herself in someone else's shoes, temporary though it was.  
She was an orphan; at least she was before her new mother had adopted her. Her new mother was named Coraline. Finley thought that was a beautiful name. It fit her mother like a glove.  
She and Coraline had lived in this house for a few years. It wasn't a big house, but it wasn't a little house either. It had two doors, five windows, and three bedrooms. Finley had counted them, on an evening long ago, when Spencer and Coraline were too busy arguing to pay her any mind. Spencer, she was told, might soon become her father.  
I wouldn't mind too much, Finley thought, as long as Coraline still is my mother.  
Finley's bedroom walls were painted a bright reddish-orange color, to match her hair. The rest of the house was painted a mellow shade of yellow, a shade that, according to Finley's mother, was "Just right."  
In the living room, there was a picture of a bowl of fruit, and in the drawing room, there was some expensive, but uncomfortable, furniture.  
She was playing hide-and-go-seek with her friend Peter, from across the way. That's why she had gone into the old attic, to hide. She supposed there must be good places for hiding up there. Finley hadn't even thought about what else might be in the attic. She hoped it wasn't spiders. Spiders made Finley intensely uncomfortable. Her mother said that was hereditary, although Finley didn't know what that meant at the time.  
When she had climbed up the rickety ladder, and hoisted her small figure into the black nothingness, she was surprised to find only one other item sharing the space with her. It was box, about the size of a large plate. Curious, Finley pulled it open. A cloud of dust drifted off, and she put her hand to her nose, attempting to stifle the sneeze that soon followed.  
Inside the box, there were a number of interesting things. On top, there was a stack of pictures. Finley held them up to the small skylight in the roof, in order to get a better look. "Why, that's mother," she exclaimed, "But I wonder who that boy with her is? Perhaps it's one of her old friends!"  
Coraline didn't exactly enjoy talking about her old friends. In fact, Finley had found that her mother wasn't one to talk about the past. Whenever she tried to convince her mother to tell her the secrets of her childhood (and there were secrets, Finley thought. Why else would the memories be guarded so heavily?), her mother would simply frown, and say "We can talk about anything other then that, Finley. Now, why don't we go down to the bookstore? You can pick yourself out something you like." And of course, she always readily agreed, because Finley liked nothing as well as books. Except her mother, of course.  
Finley looked through all the photos. There were many that included her mother. She'd never seen photos of her mother before, and now perhaps she knew why. Her mother's hair was a shade of blue. Like the evening sky, Finley thought. There were a lot of pictures of the boy and a slug. Finley stopped looking at the pictures.  
Next, she found a sweater, folded up underneath the pictures. There were crease-lines in it, from being in the box for such a long time. Finley laid it flat on the floor, and tried to smooth its fabric. It had stars in it-and they seemed to glow in the dim light.  
I've never seen mother wear a sweater, Finley thought.  
Last, there was a small snow globe. She had seen some like this in a store window once, when they were on vacation. This one was different though. There was nothing inside its glass walls-just snow. Finley shook it, and watched as the miniature snow fell. It's snowing outside right now, she thought, just like this. For a second, Finley wondered if the whole world was inside a snow globe, just like this one, except trillions of times bigger. Then she put the thought aside, dismissing it as a silly one. That's what Spencer would say. He thought a lot of her and her mother's ideas were silly. Spencer worked all day, and came home just in time for dinner.  
Finley put the things back into the box; first the snow globe; then the sweater, and the pictures last. She waited for Peter to find her. The quiet of the attic was soothing, and as her green eyes watched the white flakes fall through the windowpane, she drifted off into a peaceful sleep.  
It didn't last long.  
"Finley!" she heard her mothers voice. "Are you in the attic?"  
"Yes," she called down, "I am."  
"What are you doing up there?"  
"I'm hiding from Peter."  
Her mothers face suddenly popped up through the door in the floorboards. "Peter's gone. His family phoned and said they wanted him home for dinner."  
Finley let this sink in. "Oh."  
"Our dinner's almost ready. Spencer should be back soon. Better come down and wash."  
"Okay." Finley said. She stood up, and noticed the roof was just high enough to allow someone of her height clearance. She decided not to bring the box down, for now. She put her legs through the opening in the floor, and slid herself down until her foot touched a rung. She climbed down the ladder quickly, and jumped the last few feet, making a thud.  
"Are you alright?"  
"Yes," Finley answered, "I just jumped."  
Finley walked to the washroom, and scrubbed her hands vigorously under the faucets flow. She wiped her hands on her shirt, and noticed it was dusty. And wet now, also. She hurried into the kitchen, where her mother was chopping vegetables.  
"Hullo," Coraline said. "Did you wash your hands?"  
"Didn't you hear the water?"  
Her mother smiled, "Yes. I was only making sure."  
Finley tilted her head. "Mother?"  
"Yes," her mother said, stopping the chopping. "What is it?"  
"I...found something while I was in the attic," Finley continued.  
"Mmm." said her mother.  
"It was a box," Finley said.  
"Mmm."  
"I opened it."  
"And what did you find in it?"  
She hesitated. "Pictures, a sweater, and a snow globe."  
The chopping began again. "I told you Finley, I don't want to talk about these kinds of things."  
"But," her daughter protested, "I want to know! There were pictures of you when you were small, like I am now."  
Coraline closed her eyes for a minute. "Finley, I'm sorry. But I can't tell you now. Maybe someday, when you're older."  
Finley pouted, but she knew better then to question her mother about this.  
She walked into the dining room.  
"Finley?" her mother's voice called.  
Finley's hopes soared. She ran back into the kitchen.  
"Set the table, would you?"  
Her smile faded. She walked sulkily to the cupboard, stood on tiptoes, and removed three plates. She sulkily set the on the table.  
"Spoons and forks, too." called her mother.  
She got three spoons, and three forks, and placed them next to the plates.  
"Thank you," her mother said.  
Finley went into the living room to wait. There was a bookcase in the far corner. Sometimes, when no one was looking, she moved a chair in front of the bookcase, and stood on it, so she could reach the top shelf. She was thinking about doing it now, but she heard the front door open. Spencer was home.


	3. Dinner

"I'm home!" Spencer announced. "What's for dinner?"

"Food," said her mother.

"Great," Spencer sighed sarcastically. Spencer did not appreciate her mothers cooking skills, Finley thought. She liked the food her mother made. Well, most of the time.

She went back into the dining room and sat down. Spencer sat down too. "Any good books today?" he asked. He knew that Finley often read several books a day.

"I read about Protective Coloration," Finley answered.

"That's good. That's a very important skill to learn."

Finley looked suspiciously at the man who, soon perhaps, would be her father. "Spencer, can you tell me what Protective Coloration is?" she challenged.

He looked surprised. "Guess I must have been sleeping during that day of school. Or passing notes to your mother." Her mother came out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of steaming vegetables. "Yum," Spencer said. Coraline shot him a look. Finley could always identify 'the look'. Her mother showed it to Spencer fairly often.

"Spencer was telling me about Protective Coloration," Finley blurted out, anxious to change the atmosphere between her mother and Spencer.

"Oh?" said her mother, slightly amused.

"Well, you know. If I can come home from work and teach the kid some science, I'm happy."  
Finley frowned. She didn't like being called a "kid". Her mother noticed the frown.

"She has a name, Spencer."

He raised an eyebrow. "I know she does. It's a term of affection."

Her mother's voice became a littler higher, "'Kid'? A term of affection?" She turned to Finley, "Do you like when he calls you that?" Finley shook her head.

"Well I'm sorry," Spencer chuckled, "My dad used to call me that all the time!"

"And you liked it?" her mother asked.

"Well, I don't know about that, but-don't tell me that your parents didn't call you that when you were little. Or were they too busy gardening to talk to you."  
Finley cringed. Coraline stared at him.

"I'm not hungry," she said, and excused herself.

"Now, hold on a minute!" Spencer called, and ran after her.

I guess I'll have dinner alone, again." Finley thought. Why do things like this always have to happen? Sometimes, she didn't understand Spencer. Or her mother, for that matter.

Finley quietly finished eating. She heard angry-sounding voices. She decided to go outside, where she couldn't hear them fighting. After she cleared her plate and put it into the dishwasher, Finley put on her coat and gloves. The coat had been given to her by her best friend at her ninth birthday party; it was special. The gloves had been her mother's when she was a young girl; they were more special.

Finley pulled open the door and stepped out into the cold night air. It was normally cold here in New York City in November. The winds blew with a vengeance, and you could catch cold if you weren't careful. Finley made sure her coat was fully zipped. She didn't like the idea of catching a cold. And besides, she thought, how does one catch a cold? Isn't it more like the cold catches you?

The snow was deep, and went up to her knees. "Perhaps I should've changed out of my jeans first," she muttered to herself.

"Perhaps you are right," replied a kind-sounding voice. "What are you doing out here this late in the evening young lady?"

Finley smiled at her next-door neighbor. "I decided to take a walk. Mother and Spencer are having a private talk." Mrs. Stevens was no stranger to the situation.

"It sure is cold out tonight," she commented. Finley nodded in agreement, and wrapped her arms around herself. "A hot cup of cocoa would sure be nice on a night like this." Finley nodded again. "How about this," the elderly woman said. "Why don't you come in and visit with me for a bit, instead of taking that walk. I happen to have a fresh pot of hot cocoa on the burner."

"That sounds capital," Finley replied, trying out a new word she had read in the dictionary. "I accept your offer." Mrs. Stevens led her inside her small apartment. It probably wasn't as warm as it seemed, but to Finley, coming from outdoors, it was like stepping into a hot oven.

She took her coat off, and hung it on the coat hanger. She kept her gloves on.

Mrs. Stevens moved around in the kitchen, gathering cups and marshmallows. "What have you been up to lately Ms. Finley? You haven't come to visit me in awhile."

"Oh," Finley said vaguely. "I've been busy."

"Mmhmm, I thought so. People are too busy nowadays for their own good, if you ask me."

Finley hadn't asked her, but she was too polite to point this out. "Has your son written to you yet?"

Mrs. Stevens had a long-lost son, Finley had found this out a few months ago. Mrs. Stevens wrote to her son every week, but as far as Finley could tell, he never wrote back.

"Nope, but I'll never stop writing." the older woman replied. "One of these days..." she trailed off.

"Don't worry," she said. "It stands to reason that he'll write sooner or later." Finley sat, waiting for the hot cocoa that had been promised.

Mrs. Stevens took her time, pouring the cups slowly; scooping the marshmallows in a speed akin to slow motion, Finley thought. Finally, the cocoa was ready. Mrs. Stevens placed two cups on the table, and plopped down next to Finley.

"How's your Mum doing these days?"

"Fine."

"That's fine. And Spencer?"

"Fine. He works a lot."

Mrs. Stevens laughed. "Every man does. Why, that's the reason my son is gone right now. Figured he had to make his own living, so he got a job for some company driving a bus and went off. Not that work is a bad thing, mind you. Don't be telling your Mum I said a thing like that. Cause I didn't."

She eyed Finley. Finley pretended to zip up her lips. Mrs. Stevens laughed, "Good, good. Well, your mother'll be worried about you 'fore long. You best be getting back."

Finley finished her cocoa, and walked to the door. She put her coat back on. "Thank you for having me!" she called.

"You're welcome anytime!" replied Mrs. Stevens.

Finley opened the door, and rejoined the freezing cold temperatures. On the way back to her house she saw a snowman she had built earlier that week. He was half-melted, and looked rather creepy Finley thought. She hopped up the front steps of her house, and unlocked the door with her key.

The voices had stopped. She noticed this when she entered the cozy house. Once she had put away her coat and gloves, she climbed up the stairs, and went to her room.

She brushed her teeth, undressed, and got into bed. She was about to drift off into dream-filled sleep, when her mother tiptoed in. Finley sat up.

"Did you go outside?" her mother asked softly.

"Yes. Mrs. Stevens invited me over. Then I came back here."

"Good," said her mother. "You wore your coat?"

"Yes," said Finley. "And my gloves."

Her mother nodded. "You know that Spencer and I weren't fighting."

"Right," Finley said, "It was just a discussion."

"Exactly," said her mother, turning to leave. "Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you too," Finley said, and then she went to sleep.


	4. Frustrated

By the next morning, the snow had stopped. To Finley this was a welcome relief. If it had gotten much higher, it would be taller then me, she thought, frowning.

She got up, and stretched, then yawned. It wasn't a tired yawn-it was a waking up yawn. Finley made her bed, and then looked at the clock hanging on her wall. It was too early to wake mother up.

Finley's mum didn't like it when she woke her up this early.  
She decided to tidy her room. Not that it needed much cleaning, because she was a very organized person. She found a few marbles on the floor. She put them inside a bag, and put it on the shelf. Then she picked up a few clothing items that were laying on the floor, and put them in her dressed drawer, where they belonged.

"All clean," she said, looking around. But it wasn't. Not yet. There was her doll, laying under the bed, with just an arm poking out. Finley got down on her knees, and peered under the bed.

"What are you doing under there?" she inquired of the doll. It made no reply. "It's rude not to say anything when someone's asked you a question," Finley told the doll.

"Hullo Finley," Spencer had come in while she was talking, and now he was grinning. "Who're you talking to?"

Finley sat up straight, biting her lip. "Just...my doll. She was hiding under the bed again."

Spencer tried to conceal his smile, but failed. "Well," he said, giving her a look, "You know dolls can't talk. Try and grow up soon, okay Finley?" He said helpfully. "Talking to inanimate objects is fine when you're eight, or nine. But you're almost ten years old now."

He said goodbye and went off to work. Finley didn't know where he worked. He just did. A small part of her wanted to forget Spencer's advice, but another part of her knew it was true. She would be grown up soon, and grow ups didn't speak with dolls. She made a mental note never to converse with a doll again.

She was tired of waiting, and since Spencer was up, maybe her mother was awake too. She walked silently out of her room, and into the living room. She liked how quiet it was in the early mornings, like nothing in the world existed except her. It hadn't always been this quiet in the mornings for her. Before Coraline had adopted her, she'd lived at Fitzpatrick's Fabulous Home for Ornery Orphans, or FFHOO for short. FFHOO had not been 'fabulous' at all, in Finley's opinion. The other children there had been mean. They were the kind of children who had grown up early, and so they didn't have much patience for a small girl who still played with dolls and read books.

That made Finley think of another problem-the headmaster. Whenever Finley was spending her time reading, the headmaster made it clear to her that he would prefer she spend that time doing chores instead. And the chores...

But my life is different now, she thought. I have a mother and maybe a father. And a home all to myself. And books. There's only one thing that could be better, and that's if mother would tell me about when she was a little girl.

The doorbell rang abruptly, and Finley looked around. No one else seemed to be getting the door, so she ran over to it.

"Who is it?" she called through the door.

"Postman," came the reply. Finley opened the door a crack, just enough to see if the person was lying. He wasn't.

"I have a package here for Finley-is that you?"

"Yes, I'm Finley!" she took the package from the man.

"And I'm Postman Bob."

"Goodbye Postman Bob," said Finley, closing the door.

"Goodbye Finley," said Postman Bob, from outside.

Finley hurried to the couch in the living room, and set the box down. It wasn't a big box, but it wasn't a little box either. She wondered what was inside. It was a bit heavy. But who was it from? She looked at the packing label taped to the top.

"It's from Oregon!" she said aloud. "Oregon!" she repeated excitedly. She knew that was where her mother had lived long ago, when she herself hadn't existed yet. She wondered where people stayed before they were born. But she didn't think anyone knew that answer, so she refocused her attention on the box. It was taped securely, but it could be opened by scissors, Finley knew.

She ran to get them, and walked back, because she knew never to run with scissors. She hopped back up on the uncomfortable couch, and began cutting away the tape.

The box lid opened up. Finley peered inside. She exclaimed happily. There were books! And candy! And a letter for her mother to read!

"What's that?" her mother asked, voice sleepy, but alert.

Finley turned, eyes wide, "It's a package, mummy! From Oregon!"

"Another one?" Coraline's eyes narrowed. She walked over and looked inside the box.

"Look mother, books! And candy too! And there's a letter to you! Is it from that boy you were with in the pictures I found?"

Her mother didn't say anything. She sat down and began reading the letter to herself. Finley tried to look over her shoulder, but her mother gave her a look.

After awhile her mother got up. She looked flustered, a word Finley had learnt from Spencer. "Put the things back in the box," she instructed. "We're sending this one back."

Finley protested, horrified that she, whose name was on the outside of the box, should have to give up the things inside. Her mother didn't reply. Finley laid down on the couch, something she knew she wasn't supposed to do. Her mother picked up the phone in the kitchen, and dialed a number. Finley's mind was still upset and pouting, but her ears became sharply concentrated.

"How many times do I have to tell you, stop sending things to my daughter." There was a pause. "I know it was you, Wyborne, I read your letter. I don't want to call the authorities, but I will if this doesn't stop now!" The phone clicked as it was slammed down by her mother.

She walked back into the living room. Her eyes moved over the books and candy, still not inside the box.

"Finley, please put these back in the box."

"No." It was a muffled 'no', since her head was currently buried in a couch cushion.

"What did you say?"

She sat up. "I said 'no'."

Her mother scowled. "Don't talk back to me," she said, "And you're laying on the couch, when you're supposed to only sit. You know my Grandmother gave those to my parents, who gave them to me!"  
Finley stayed where she was. "I don't like to do this," her mother said, "But you need to go to your room until you can learn to behave yourself."

Finley got up and went to her room. She pulled the doll out from under the bed. She laid down on the covers and curled up into a ball.


	5. Letter

Finley found herself very bored for the next few days. It wasn't something she could place her finger on; normally she was seldom bored, because she usually could find a book to read to take her mind off the boredom. But it seemed as if the books she was reading were just as bored as she was. Too bored to even try and sound interesting to a young girl with a relatively short attention span.

So, Finley tried going outside. She would put on her snowsuit, and head out into the dropping temperatures. But once she was out of doors, she discovered that there was nothing to do outside but build snowmen, (Once is enough for me, said Finley) have snowball fights, (Too easy for me, thought Finley, hitting her mother square in the chest) and make snow angels, (Too cold for me, decided Finley).

A week passed like this, and everything seemed destined to be an eternal bore, until one Tuesday afternoon.

"I'm going food-shopping," her mother said. "Would you like to come, Finley?"

Finley was laying face-down on the floor. She rolled onto her back to answer. "No thank you."

Her mother pretended to look shocked. "No? But I thought you were bored!"

"I am," said Finley.

"What could be more exciting then food-shopping?" joked her mother. Finley didn't reply. "Alright, well I'll be back soon. Be good." And with that, Finley was alone in the house.

She stayed there on the floor for what seemed like ages to her, but was probably just a few minutes in reality. Then she heard a knock on the door.

"I'm coming!" she called, jumping to her feet and dashing out of the room. She reached the front hall in record time, and opened the door.

"Hullo," said Postman Bob. "Hullo, Finley."

"Hullo Postman Bob," said Finley. Then, rather hopefully, "Do you have another package for me?"

Postman Bob chuckled, "Not a package. It's a letter this time." He handed Finley a brown envelope. "It seems like it is quite important. Shipped overnight delivery. What could be in there, do you think?"  
Finley told him that she hadn't the faintest idea, and bid farewell to him. (Frankly, it wasn't any of his business anyway, she thought.)

She took the letter into her room, and sat at her reading desk. A letter opener that she had found on the floor one day and decided to keep helped to open the brown envelope. She took the letter out and began to read it, as best she could.

"Dear Finley," the letter said, "I suspect by now that you've noticed your mother's reluctance to discuss her past." Finley frowned. She had noticed this. A lot. She continued reading. "The reason why your mother has been fighting with Spencer so much is that she is unhappy. And she is unhappy because she cannot put the past behind her."

Finley put the letter down. Unhappy? Was her mother unhappy? She thought about it, and decided that Coraline had been frowning more of late. Yes, she decided, her mother must be unhappy. And that's why she's fighting so much with Spencer. Because she can't let go of the past. She keeps it bottled up inside her like a bottle of water. She picked the letter back up. "I know you want to help your mother become happy again, don't you?"

"Yes," Finley said out loud. "I do."

"So I have come up with a plan that will do it," the letter continued. A plan, Finley thought, that's good. In my adventure books, the hero always has a plan. That's how they defeat the villain. But, she wondered, who is the villain in this case? She thought about it and decided that unhappiness was the dastardly foe.

"You must come right away, and meet me here in Oregon, at your mother's old flat." The writer of the letter then listed an address. "It's the only way for your mother to ever be happy again. I know you'll do the right thing, Finley. Sincerely, Wyborne, an Old Friend of your Mother's."

Finley didn't move for a couple minutes. The letter-writer, her mother's old friend, Wyborne, wanted to meet her at the Pink Palace, her mother's old home! It was almost too much to take in. She placed a hand on the desk to steady herself.

Finally, after all the times that her many questions about her mother's former life in Oregon had gone unanswered, she was going there to learn the secrets. And not only that, but it was the only way to save her mother from a lifetime of unhappiness!

I'll need to pack some things, she told herself. And I'll need to get a map, so I don't get lost. Adventurers always have maps in storybooks.

Finley ran into Spencer's room, the only one in the house with a computer. Spencer had shown her how to use it once. She pressed the 'on' button. It took a few minutes, but then it warmed up and displayed a home screen. Finley opened a web browser, and typed in 'How to get from New York City to Ashland, Oregon'. She pressed enter. Immediately, a map popped up. She clicked the print button, and waited.

By the time her mother returned home, Finley's plan was finished. She would leave the next morning, early. She had the map in her backpack, along with certain other things she would need. She had packed a book, a banana, a few five-dollar bills (all the money she had saved up), and several changes of clothing.

Later, when Coraline came to kiss her goodnight, Finley asked her a question. "Are you happy, mother?"

Her mother paused a few seconds before answering, and that was all Finley needed to see. The letter was right. Her mother was not completely happy.

"Most of the time, I am." answered her mother. "Most of the time."

Finley closed her eyes and smiled, "Don't worry mother. You'll be happy again soon."

Coraline watched her adopted daughter for several minutes before leaving. Finley was such a good child, Coraline thought. Much better then I was to my parents.

She hadn't heard from her father in a few months. He had kept to himself after her mother's death in an automobile accident. Almost as if a part of him were gone now. Coraline knew how that felt. She turned out the lights, undressed, and got into bed. She hoped she wouldn't have the dream again.


	6. Missing

When Coraline woke up the next morning, she didn't get out of bed right away. She laid there for a while, just thinking.

"I suppose I've been too hard on her all this time, never telling her about...what she wants to know," Coraline thought. "Maybe it's time I tell her."

And she was about to get up and walk right into her daughter's room and do just that...but then she decided against it again.

"She's not even ten years old yet, and she might not even believe me," Coraline thought. "Finley's a very reasonable girl."

So she stayed right where she was until about an hour had passed. She was hungry, and thought Finley probably would be as well.

She went downstairs after finishing her morning routine of getting ready for the day.

"Finley isn't awake yet," she thought curiously. It was unusual for Coraline to be out of bed before her daughter, but no real cause for alarm.

Coraline started breakfast by getting the egg carton out of the icebox. She made herself an omelet. Then she sat down to eat it.

"I can't believe I only liked cheese omelets when I was little," she thought. "I was a picky-eater. Finley's not as picky as I was."

Then she thought, "Why is Finley still asleep?"

Coraline left her omelet sitting on her plate. She rushed upstairs to Finley's room. The door was open a tiny crack.

"Finley, are you awake?" she called softly. When there was no reply, Coraline snuck up to the crack, and peered in with one eye. She caught her breath. No one was in the room.

"Be calm," she told herself. "She's most likely reading on the couch, or maybe she's gone to visit Mrs. Stevens."

Coraline practically flew down the stairs. She rechecked every room in the house. No Finley.

"Oh, what is she thinking, going out to visit Mrs. Stevens this early," Coraline thought. She hoped it was true, and that Finley WAS at Mrs. Stevens.

She went over to the phone, and dialed the number with an unsteady hand.

"Hullo?"

"Hullo, Mrs. Stevens. It's Coraline Jones, from next-door. Finley's mother."

"Why, good morning Mrs. Jones. What can I do for you?"

"Is Finley at your house right now?"

There was a pause. "No; isn't she at home with you?"

"Have you seen her at all today?"

Another pause. "Come to think of it, I do remember seeing someone walk out of your front door. It was early, and I didn't have my spectacles on, so I assumed it was Mr. Price, but now that I think about it, this person was a heckuva lot shorter than him."

"Why would Finley do that? Where was she going?" Coraline's words came out sounding rushed, and not connected.

"I do remember her carrying a bag of some sort. But I do not know where on God's green earth she would have been going at that hour."

"Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Stevens. " Coraline said. Then she hung up the phone.

Where could Finley possibly be going? Why hadn't she told her mother, who was like her best friend?

Coraline hesitated for a second, and a horrible thought crossed her mind. Then she knew what must be done. She picked up the phone again, and dialed.

"NYPD, what's the nature of your call?"

"I'd like to report a missing girl."

"Alright. What is your relationship to the girl?"

"She's my daughter," Coraline's voice was tight with worry.

"Any idea on where she might be, ma'am?"

"None. She never goes anywhere without telling me first. She just left this morning, and I'm worried.."

"Okay ma'am, what is your name?"

"Coraline", said Coraline.

"Alright, Coraline," said the man, who sounded a little annoyed. "I'll see what I can do. Of course, your daughter will have to be missing for a while longer before you can file a missing person's report."

"I don't pay my tax dollars for you to sit around in a time like this!" Coraline was losing her temper.

The man paused, and he could he heard asking a muted question. When he came back on the line, his tone was friendly. "We'll send two of our...best detectives right down there. Could I have your address please?"

Coraline gave the man her address, hung-up, and sat down.

"My daughter is missing," she kept telling herself, each time believing it a little more. "I've got to do something to help somehow!" she said. But what?

"I'll search her room and see if there are any clues there," she thought. Coraline hurried up to Finley's room, opened the door, and stepped inside. It smelled fruity, thanks to an air-freshener plugged into the wall.

Coraline opened the closet. Nothing seemed to be a clue, but she did notice several of Finley's favorite clothing articles were gone. That meant something. She noticed something sticking out from under the bed, but her attention was already focused on the letter. It was laying on the desk, the words staring out, seemingly right at her.

She read the letter. Then she went outside to wait for the police.  
About twenty minutes later, a police car drove up and parked next to the house.

The two detectives introduced themselves to Coraline, and told her to give them all the facts. For the next few minutes, Coraline relayed all she knew to Police Detectives Smith and Wesson.

"-And just now, while I was waiting for you," she said, trying not to cry. "I went up and looked around in her room again. And some clothes are missing; but I also found this."  
She handed Detective Smith the letter.

"A letter?" he said, in his deep voice, which, incidentally, Coraline somehow found slightly familiar, as if she'd heard it before, a long time ago.

Coraline nodded. She was afraid that is she spoke, her words would turn into sobs. Her daughter, the only thing dear to her, was gone.

"Do you know who wrote this?" Smith questioned. Wesson looked over his shoulder, at the letter.

"Yes," was all she could say.

"It's signed 'Wyborne'," Smith said. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

Coraline closed her eyes, and told them about Wybie. He had known her when she was a girl, and lived at the Pink Palace. He had not wanted her to go. He had been sending Finley packages and letters for a few months now.

"Is he a dangerous sort of person?" Smith wondered aloud.

Coraline remembered how she had called him the 'village stalker'. "I-I don't know; it's been so long since I've seen him."

"Well, don't you worry about your daughter," Police Detective Smith told her, "If anyone can find her, we can! I'm the brains, and Detective Wesson here is the brawn." Wesson smiled at her.

Coraline did not feel any better.


	7. Motorcycles

Finley sat down to rest on a bench. It was cold out, and even though she was warmer walking then she was sitting still, she needed a rest.

The cold hadn't bothered her as much when she first left the house. The thrill, the excitement, the anticipation-they'd all kept her mind off the temperature. It was so early when she left that Spencer wasn't even awake yet.

She wondered if anyone knew she was gone. She wondered, if they did know, what they were doing about it.

I hope mother isn't too upset with me for leaving, she thought. It's for her, after all. To help her make peace with the past. And if I'm going to help her, I have to get to Oregon-so I'd better stop resting.

Finley got to her feet. She began walking in the general direction of Oregon, her backpack slung across her back.

She walked for some time, and then came to a small building. I'm hungry, she realized. The sign in front advertised 'Food and Gas'. That's funny, thought Finley, amused at the wording of the sign.

She laid her pack down on a rusty old bench outside the building, and opened it up. Rooting through the contents, she eventually found what she was looking for: money. Not just money, her life savings! It wasn't much; only twenty dollars, maybe a little less. After the money Finley spent on books, there wasn't much left for savings.

She stuffed the bills into her coat pocket. Then she put the pack back on her back, and opened the door to the diner.

Finley sat at a table in the back, where she hoped she wouldn't be recognized. She didn't know how far her mother's reach could extend, in terms of finding her.

A waiter came by and gave her a glass of water. It had ice in it. She didn't drink it. There was an empty table to her right, and an empty table to her left. She looked at the menu.

Finley had gotten to the diner at that perfect moment, when lunch is just opening up, and breakfast hadn't quite closed down.

"I'll have a hot dog and an egg," Finley told the waiter. He looked at her strangely. "And a plate of carrots," she added hastily. Her mother always told her to eat vegetables, and since carrots were rumored to help one's eyesight, it was no secret which one Finley liked best. Healthy eyes were good for reading.

The diner door opened and a group of bikers came inside. Finley could tell they were bikers by the looks of them. Dark leather jackets and motorcycle helmets.

They came close to her table. She didn't know quite what to do; hunker down to avoid drawing attention, or sit up tall and act natural to avoid drawing attention.

But it didn't really seem to matter. The bikers were laughing amongst themselves, and didn't give Finley a single glance as they sat down at the tables next to her. There were five bikers in all-three boys and two girls.

Finley waited patiently for her egg and hot dog to come. Finally, they did. "Little girl," said the waiter, setting the plate in front of her, "Are you all alone?"

Finley didn't know to do, so she pretended. "No," she answered convincingly, "My mum's out in the car waiting for me. She said I could come in and get a snack."

The waiter seemed relieved. "Oh, alright. Just making sure. You understand," he went off to wait on the bikers.

Just as Finley was about to dig into her egg, she heard a noise. She looked up, and was surprised to see one of the female bikers sitting across from her.

"Hello," said the lady, smiling gently.

"Hullo," said Finley, unsure of what the lady was doing at her table.

"You might be wondering what I'm doing at your table," the lady said. Finley nodded to indicate that the lady had read her mind perfectly. "Well, I just happened to overhear that waiter talking to you, about being alone."

Finley felt a butterfly rouse inside her stomach. Did this lady know what she was doing?

"And just before we came in here, I heard an alert on the police radio," the biker continued. "That's you isn't it? You ran away from home."

Finley could feel her heart beating inside her chest. She felt sure everyone else in the diner could hear it. After an endless moment, she nodded.

"Good for you!" the biker told Finley. "I always wanted to run away from home, but could never muster up enough courage."

"But I'm not really running away," Finley tried to explain.

Her table mate wasn't listening.  
"My father was hard on me, if you know what I mean. My mother too, but mainly my father. Oh, I thought about leaving many times, but I'd always get scared and stay where I was." She smiled at Finley and said "Good for you!" again. Finley looked down at her plate. "Oh, how rude of me," exclaimed the lady, "I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Melrose, but you can call me Rosy. All my friends do."

Finley wondered if it was wise to talk to someone who, after only five minutes of awkward conversation, considered her a 'friend'.

"And what's your name?" asked Melrose.

"I'm Finley," said Finley. "My friends call me...Finley."

"I see," replied Melrose. "And where are you headed? You can tell me." She made a zipping motion across her lips to indicate she would keep the information to herself.

Finley squirmed uncomfortably before answering in a soft voice, "Oregon."

"My, that sure is a ways off. Any particular reason you're heading in that direction?"

"Yes," Finley told her, "An old friend of my mothers lives there. He told me to come."

"That's good." Melrose looked out the window. "If only my mother had had an old friend who would've looked after me..." her voice trailed off. "But that's neither here nor there. Tell me, Finley, do you know how you're planning on getting to Oregon? It's a long way, you know."

"I know," Finley responded. "I have a map." She took a bite of her hot dog, having already finished the egg.

"Well, having a map's fine and dandy, but you can't walk all the way to Oregon," Melrose said sensibly.

Finley thought about this. Oregon was a long way off, and it seemed especially far away for a girl of her age to cover all that distance on foot.

"I know!" exclaimed Melrose, "You can come with us!"

"Sorry?"

"You can come with me! You can ride on my motorcycle; I've got an extra helmet! Besides, I've always wanted to drive to Oregon. Whaddya say?"

Finley knew it was the only way. How else would she get there? It seemed silly to her now that she had even thought about the possibility of walking to Oregon. "I accept your offer, Melrose." she said.

"Wonderful," said Melrose, "But you have to call me Rosy."

"Okay," said Finley, "I accept your offer, Rosy."


	8. Bus

Finley discovered she liked riding on motorcycles. The breeze blew through her hair. The scenery zipped by.

"How are you getting along back there?" Rosy yelled, barely audible through the wind.

"Quite well!" Finley called back. "It's getting rather dark though, don't you think Rosy?"

"Yeah! Lemme give Tim a call on the radio." Finley waited while Rosy used the bike radio to call one of the other motorcyclists, whose name happened to be Tim. Having a radio built-in to your ride is very handy, Finley thought. She wished her mother's car had a radio that could communicate. The radio in her mother's car only played soft, slow piano ballads.

"He says we're going to stop for the night up here!" Rosy said, taking a hand off the bike to point to a tall building ahead.

'The Royal Tunbridge Wells Inn' said the sign on the door. Rosy and her biker friends parked outside. Then they walked into the inn.

"Do you have any money?" asked Rosy, in a low voice.

"Yes, I do," replied Finley. "I've been saving it for a while."

"That's good. You can buy your own room, or you could stay with me and Sara in ours if you'd like."

They walked up to the front desk and Tim started talking to the clerk.  
"We'd like three rooms, please. Just one night." The man at the front desk peered through horn-rimmed glasses over the counter at them. He looked suspicious. "We don't smoke," Timmy pleaded.

"Do your pets smoke?" asked the man, very suspiciously.

"We don't have any pets," Tim scowled.

The clerk stopped being suspicious. "We might be able to work you in," said the man. "Here at the Royal Tunbridge Wells Inn we are very, very busy."

It doesn't look very busy, thought Finley. It looks for all intents and purposes to be practically deserted.

"But," the man continued, "we could work you in-that would be $50 dollars a room, plus a deposit of $10, just to be safe."

"That's highway robbery! I won't pay that price," said Timmy.

"He likes to think of himself as a rock hard negotiator," Rosy whispered to Finley.

"My best offer would be $40, but with only one bed in each room."

"Thirty!" Timmy countered.

"Thirty-five!" said the man, who was getting into the spirit of things.

"Forty!" called Timmy, who never understood the process of bargaining.

"Sixty-seven!"

"It's a deal!" exclaimed Timmy.

Finley didn't think Timmy was very good at negotiating.

The man rang a bell, and a small boy appeared through a little door. He appeared to be about Finley's age.

He slouched up to Rosy and said, "May I take yer bags, miss?"

"You cannot," said Rosy, "because I have none. I'm a free bird, with no baggage to weigh me down!"

The boy gazed at her strangely, and then turned his eyes to Finley for a few seconds. The moment passed speedily, and the boy moved on.

The bikers went up to their rooms.  
"I'll be in room 22 if you change your mind," Rosy told Finley.

Finley approached the man at the front desk. "Excuse me, but do you have a room available for me?"

"Hmm," said the man, scratching his head. "You seem familiar." He looked her over. Finley saw that he had a radio by his desk. A radio that could have told him to look for a runaway girl.

"On second thought, never mind about the room," Finley called as she hurried away. She hoped he hadn't had time to put two and two together. She hoped he wouldn't call her mother, and tell her where she was. She had to reach Oregon. It was only for the best.

She knocked on the door to room 22. It opened, and Sara's tall frame filled it.

"Oh, it's you," she said unenthusiastically. "Rosy! It's the little girl!"

Rosy came to greet her. "So you've changed your mind. I'm glad." She leaned in close and whispered, "I didn't want to stay with Sara here by myself all night. She's a good gal, but very melancholy."

"She doesn't seem to like me," Finley remarked.

"She'll warm up eventually. If you stay with us long enough. Have you ever wanted to be a biker?"  
Finley nodded. She did think it would be fun, especially after her experience today.

"It would be fun," she said slowly. "But I can't. I have a job to do in Oregon, with my mother's old friend."

Rosy patted her on the back, "I understand. And don't you worry, we'll get you to Oregon by tomorrow night for sure. Now if I was you, I'd get some rest."

Finley crawled into one of the beds in the small room. She was asleep before either Sara or Rosy could believe it.

"She must have been tired," Sara commented.

"I think today has been tough for her," said Rosy. "She ran away from home."

Sara frowned and replied, "That's none of my business."

Finley woke up in the middle of the night, crying softly. She'd dreamed that her mother had forgotten about her, that her mother had a new adopted daughter now. Rosy was comforting her.

"There, there, everything will be alright. I know it's hard, but it was just a dream. Just a dream."

Finley settled, and fell back to sleep.

The next morning they set out early. For breakfast, Finley ate a small, tasteless apple from the breakfast room at the inn. She wondered how you could make an apple not taste like an apple.

They crossed the state-line into Oregon around noon. "Are you excited?" asked Rosy.

"Yes," Finley answered. But in truth, she was not so much excited as relieved. She would be back with her mother soon. She was sure of that.

They drove up mountainous roads, and down valley roads. It was late in the afternoon when they stopped.

"This is where we part ways," Rosy told her. "There's a bus station here that'll take you wherever you want to go in Oregon next. Do you have the money for a ticket?"

"I hope so," Finley said softly.

"What's that?" asked Rosy, not hearing her.

"Yes," Finley said loudly.

"Well then," said Rosy. It seemed to Finley that she was trying not to cry.

"Goodbye, Rosy," she said, giving her new friend a hug. "Thank you very much for the ride. And the hotel room."

Rosy nodded, "Happy to have been of service. Good luck. And take care of yourself, you hear?"

"I will," said Finley. Then she walked over to the bus station. She watched as Rosy and her gang rode off. Finley wondered where they were going now. Sara waved as they left.

When they were completely gone, and Finley could no longer see them, she looked at the bus schedule.

"According to this schedule," she said, "a bus will come here, pick up and drop off passengers, and leave for Ashland in one hour."

It wasn't hard waiting for an hour. She read the book she had packed and the time flew by quickly. She barely raised her head when the bus pulled up, she was so engaged in her reading.

"All aboard!" The call startled her. She looked up, and saw a short man standing in the entryway to the vehicle. He called out again, "All aboard!"

She hurried to pack up her bag. She walked up to the man. "I'd like to go to Ashland, Oregon, please."

The man smiled, "I do believe that's the only Ashland we stop at. Hop on."

She hopped on. "How much is the ticket?" she asked.

"Here in Oregon, you don't pay until after you get where you're going," explained the man.

"That seems odd," said Finley.

"Oh, not really." said the man. "You pay for your food after you eat it, generally speaking."

This was true, Finley thought. She sat down in the seat behind the driver. There were only a few others on the bus, but they were sitting in the back. It was very quiet.

"How long a drive is it?" she asked.

"About two hours," said the driver.

"I'm Henry, by the way. Henry Winkle Thorndyke. To whom do I have the honor of addressing?"

Finley grinned, "Finley Hallee Jones." she said. "But you can just call me Finley."

Henry laughed, "Well, Finley it is then. Why're you heading out to Ashland by yourself, Miss Finley?"

Finley replied, "I'm going to visit an old friend of my mother's."

"Bet that'll be fun," said Henry. "I haven't seen my mama in years. It's a real shame, the way we acted in the past. But, we can't change it now."

Finley bit her lip. She hadn't seen her mother in two days, and she was already missing her. Henry must feel horrible, not seeing his mother in years.

Then she remembered something. She remembered that Mrs. Stevens had said something about her long-lost son who drove a bus. She thought about how to ask Henry about it. Before she knew it, it was dark outside and everyone else had exited the vehicle.

"Here we are," said Henry, smiling.

Finley yawned, and sat up. She must have fallen asleep during the trip. "You have very comfortable seats in Oregon," she told Henry. He chuckled.

"How much do I owe you?" she said, opening her bag.

"Well, the thing is," Henry said, "Rides to Ashland are free today."

Finley was confused, "For everyone? Today only?"

Henry winked, "Just for people named Finley Hallee Jones."

Finley's eyes got bigger. This was quite a coincidence. Maybe it was even a sign that she was where she was supposed to be.

She was about to step off the bus, when she remembered something she needed to ask. "Henry," she said, "Is your mother's name Mrs. Stevens?"

Henry smiled sadly, "Nope. But now that you've brought up the subject of mother's, I just might go and visit mine. I think I'd like that."

"I'm sure she would too," said Finley. She got off and waved goodbye to the bus, and it drove away.


	9. Brainstorm

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi everyone! I just wanna say thanks for reading and reviewing! Each review reminds me to update the story, so keep 'em coming! Also, I'm going to start replying to every review now. ^_^

This chapter is pretty short, but Finley/Coraline's story is beginning to rush toward its grim conclusion. From here on out, there are some details in the story that draw from the original book and from the movie. But for the most part I think I relied on the book for information, since it is what the film is based on. The only real reference from the movie is the fact that Wybie is in this story. He really just fit into it from the very start, and he's such an interesting character that I couldn't help writing him in. Sorry for those enthusiasts of the book who don't like his addition in the movie.

This was a story I wrote a year ago, so it is all completed. I've been editing each chapter individually, write before I post them though. I came up with chapter titles when I originally wrote the story, and I've been using those when I post here. Without further ado...BRAINSTORM.)

Coraline was sick of Police Detectives Smith and Wesson. It had been nearly two whole days, and Finley was not home, where she belonged. It seemed to Coraline that all the two detectives had done was poke about in all the wrong directions, and ask all the wrong questions.

"I'm convinced that she must have gone to Oregon, to meet with my so-called 'old friend'," she had told Smith earlier that day.

"Don't you worry, miss," he had replied, "Your daughter's safety is the number one thing on our minds. Right Wesson?" The stocky officer nodded. "And we won't rest until Finley is safe and sound."

Coraline tried to control her temper, "I'm sure you're doing the best you can, but don't you think you should investigate all the clues? And the letter my daughter received is a clue."

Smith patted her hand, "All in good time, all in good time."

Coraline hadn't had the nerve to speak her mind then. But it was different now. These so-called 'detectives' had had over 24 hours to help her. And in her opinion, they had failed. They were now sitting in her house, trying to explain their lack of success.

"You know what I think?" Coraline lashed out fiercely.

"No, I don't," replied Detective Smith, who did all the talking for his partner.

"I think you aren't even detectives. Or if you are, you shouldn't be. Is this your first case?" Normally, she wouldn't be so rude. But her child was involved. She would do (and say) anything for Finley.

"I'll have you know that I've been in the police force for almost all my life!" Smith told her, shocked by her accusations. "Why, I started my career as a telephone operator at the station in Ashland; then I was promoted to chief. Of course, I was the only one on the staff at that time, but it still counts! The point is, I'm a very dependable and experienced detective. And so is my partner, Wesson."

"Can he talk?"

Smith looked over at his partner, who was sitting beside him. "Of course he can. He just doesn't like too. Show her what you do, Wesson."

Police Detective Wesson stood up and flexed his muscles. He sucked in a huge breath. Then he let loose a blood-curdling yell and plunged his hand down onto the kitchen table. There was a loud smashing noise. I hope that wasn't his hand, thought Coraline, or maybe I hope it was.

Detective Smith looked smug. "There, you see?" He indicated the place where Wesson had attacked the table. Coraline gasped. There was a dent about the size of a banana.

"Sorry about your table," Smith apologized. Coraline didn't answer. "Er, we'd, uh, better be moving on now. Lots of things to do. Come along, Wesson." The two detectives exited the house. Coraline watched them leave. She heard their police car start up. She placed her head in her hands.

I wish that I could go to sleep, and when i wake up everything will be I can't and it won't, she thought. I must do something. I have to go to Oregon. That thought perked her up. Yes, if the police won't do anything about it, then I will.

Coraline packed hurriedly, throwing clothes into her suitcase in a blind tizzy. She ran out to the car, a small VW Bug, and set the suitcase in the trunk. She got into the front seat and turned the key in the ignition. Then, just as the sun vanished from view, Coraline set off. She would drive through the night. She couldn't bear to sleep with Finley missing.


	10. Reopening

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi guys! I just want to thank you all again for reading and reviewing! It means a lot. Now, I am in the process of moving to Montana, so I may be without WiFi for a few weeks. But I didn't want to disappoint my FanFiction readers, so I decided to do something I've been wanting to do for a while. EDIT THE STORY ALL THE WAY THROUGH! Yep, I sat down and 'unraveled' the whole thing. It is available right now at this (weirdly formatted) link: payhip dot com/b/Kcg9

So, if you get impatient for the rest of the story, you can just give in to your craving now! :D Or, if you prefer, you can keep coming back here each week to read the next chapter. (The book is 25 chapters long, by the way. Plus an epilogue!)

And here's a special treat, to give you some encouragement to buy the book at payhip dot com/b/Kcg9...You can get a 15% discount by using the discount code "CoralineFFN". This discount is only for you guys here, at :D

Well, that's all I wanted to say. Peace, love, and hugs from me!

* * *

Finley reached the Pink Palace long after the moon had risen. The stars were glowing, almost as if to light her way. But that was silly, Finley knew. The stars were millions of miles away, and even older than they were far. Still, the idea that they were watching over her made her a little braver than she would have been otherwise.

Her first impression of the Pink Palace was that it wasn't really pink. Maybe it had been years ago, she thought, but now barely any color at all was visible. Of course, it could just be that the darkness of night dimmed the colors and made them more difficult to see.

She soon forgot about the non-existent pink, because she was too busy noticing other things. There appeared to be at least two other apartments in the house, she thought, because there were some stairs leading up, and some stairs leading down.

She walked up the creaky steps to the front porch. There was an ancient-looking rocking chair, which she sat in. "I suppose it's a bit late for mother's old friend to be here," she said. "He wouldn't be expecting me this time of night." She paused to stare up at the stars twinkling above her. "I suppose I should find somewhere to rest."

A noise caught her attention. It had come from inside the house; she was sure of it. There it was again: a creaking, or perhaps a squeaking.

Finley tiptoed up to the door, which was a dull greenish color, and put her ear to it. She listened. Yes, there was certainly something in there. Probably just a mouse, she thought.

She tried the door handle, just to see what would happen. It wasn't locked! "Perhaps he knew I was coming, and left this door open for me so that I'd have somewhere to spend the night," she reasoned with herself. She couldn't think of anything she wanted more at the moment than a nice, warm, cozy bed. So she opened the door to the flat and went inside.

She was disappointed with what she found. Only a few dusty chairs and a table. Finley walked through all the rooms but one.

Perhaps the bed is in there, she thought. She crept in, somewhat afraid of what she might find in an abandoned flat in the pitch-blackness. Finley wasn't afraid of the dark. Not really. She just would prefer it to be light.

There was nothing in this room either, she saw, except...except there was another door. It was open just a tiny bit, and there was light shining through the crack. Finley was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

"I wonder what's in here," she wondered as she opened the door wide, and stepped inside.


	11. Home

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone! Thanks for being patient with me during these past weeks. We are all up and running in Montana now. Our new house is nice. From now on I will resume my normal schedulee of posting one chapter every Sunday. Of course, the full story is still available at this (weirdly formatted) link: payhip dot com/b/Kcg9**

**Remember, you can get a 15% discount by using the discount code "CoralineFFN". This discount is only for you guys here, at Fanfiction dot net! :D**

**Well, that's all I wanted to say. Peace, love, and hugs from me! Hope you enjoy this chapter. Things get pretty intense from here on out.**

* * *

When Coraline reached the Pink Palace, the sun was still absent from the sky. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.

"She's got to be here," Coraline said to herself, willing it to be true.

She parked the car under a large tree, and locked the doors. As she walked towards the elderly house, something struck her, like a bolt of lightning out of the sky. It was a memory.

_"But daaad, I don't want to move!" an eleven-year-old Coraline Jones protested, stomping her foot._

_Her dad looked apologetic, but firm. "Your mother and I need a place in the country to do our work for the catalogue," he explained. "I'm afraid there's nothing we can do to change it, my dizzy dreamer."_

_"How could you even think about moving?" Coraline continued her tirade. "My friends are here! Not in...whatever city in Oregon!"_

_Her dad shrugged. "It's already been decided," he said._

_Young Coraline went to see her mother._

_"Are we moving to Oregon?" she demanded._

_Her mother sighed and rolled her eyes. "Yes, Coraline, we are." Coraline moaned, and plopped down in a kitchen chair. "You know, you could make it easier for all of us," her mother reminded her. "Your father and I don't like it any more than you do. You think I want to leave this house?" She motioned around the lovely Victorian-era home the Jones family currently lived in._

_Young Coraline groaned, "But what about my friends? What about school? What about-"_

_"You'll have to say goodbye to your friends. I heard some kind of talk about throwing you a goodbye party next week. And as far as school is concerned, we'll figure things out when we get there. I'm too busy to think about your school plans for next year, young lady."_

The memory faded, and Coraline found herself in the present again. She tried to bury the memory back where it had come from, and barely succeeded. She shivered, partly from the shock of the remembrance, and partly from the crisp morning air. It had been chilly in the summer here, but now... Coraline found herself wishing she had packed a warmer coat. She'd forgotten just how cold an Oregon winter was.

It was very quiet out, with the only audible sound being the chirping of insects. No birds were awake yet. No humans were, either, as far as Coraline could tell.

"I wonder if new people have moved in," she wondered aloud. It has been over fifteen years since I left, she thought. A lot can change in that time. She knew she had changed. She'd moved to New York, something she had always dreamed of doing. She reconnected with Spencer there, and they'd begun dating. She didn't know quite what he thought of her, and she didn't think she herself knew her own feelings for him. But she did know that he provided boarding and food for her and Finley.

Yes, that was another change. She'd felt that if she could save just one child from a life without a mommy and daddy, she would be doing her part to help the world. So, she had looked into adoption. She was pretty particular in the child she wanted, so it had taken a few years to locate the right girl. She had to be smart, well-read, and curious.

Maybe that's where I went wrong, Coraline mused. Maybe if Finley hadn't been so curious, neither of us would be here now. She silently scolded herself for placing the blame on Finley. It's not her fault. She just wanted to find out about...

Coraline refocused her mind. "Let's see if any one's home." She took a deep breath, and knocked on the door to her old flat. She had no idea of what she would say if a stranger opened the door.

Luckily, she didn't have to say anything. The door remained shut. She tried the handle. Locked.

Coraline walked down the familiar flight of stairs to Miss Spink and Miss Forcible's flat. They had been beautiful and famous actresses in their golden days, but those days had ended long ago.

Coraline knocked loudly, her need for information overcoming her politeness for waking old women up. She waited for two minutes. She heard nothing, nor did she see any change through the window in the door, which was very dusty.

I suppose it's deserted now, Coraline thought. Only one more place to try.

She hurried around to the opposite side of the house, where stairs led up into the foggy sky. Mr. B's flat.

"I bet he's still as strange as ever," Coraline couldn't help but smile. She didn't stop to think that he might think her strange for waking him up before dawn, looking for a missing daughter.

The steps creaked as she hurried up them.

Without warning, another flashback hit her.

_Young Coraline ran up the stairs towards the Other Mr. B's apartment. She reached the top, and was horrified to see the Other Wybie's jacket flying from a pole sticking out from the house. It looked just like a flag, but it was not patriotic at all._

_"Evil witch!" screamed the younger version of Coraline. "I'm not scared!"_

The memory faded back into the recesses of her mind as she reached the top landing.

"Please don't be asleep," she whispered. She stepped closer to the door, listening. She heard something! It sounded like voices coming from deep inside. She knocked on the door. The voices stopped immediately. She knocked again. Nothing.

Please, she thought, just open the door. But Mr. B didn't open it. No one did. She was just about to give up hope when a soft voice called out, "Who's there?"

"Coraline Jones!" she answered. Her voice sounded very loud in the quiet morning. The sun still wasn't up yet. She waited.

The door shuddered, then opened, as if being pulled by an invisible force. Coraline stepped inside.

"Hello?" she called. The flat smelled strongly, just like it had seventeen years ago. But it wasn't a cheese-y smell now; it was a medicine-y smell. It burned Coraline's nose.

She found Mr. B in the back bedroom. He was lying in a tall oak bed that had a dark wood headboard. He was slumped up against the pillows, and his head was tilted at an odd angle.

"Hello, Mr. B...it's me, Coraline."

He barely raised his head. "Ah, it is you, isn't it. But you...you don't look the same."

Coraline bit her lip. "I've grown up. I'm not a child any more." Mr. B was silent. "Mr. B, I came here tonight all the way from New York." He looked like he was listening. "I'm looking for a little girl who went missing. Her name is Finley. She has red hair. Have you seen her?"

He spoke in a whispering voice, "I know about things that go missing. My mice went missing. They never came back. Now all I do is lay here in this-"

"Please, Mr. B," Coraline pleaded. "Have you seen a girl?"

He looked up at her and shook his head slowly, "No."

Coraline let her breath out. What could she do now? She had to find the 'old friend' who'd started this mess: Wyborne.

"Do you have a place to go?" Mr. B's voice was rough and crinkly around the edges.

Coraline looked back at him. "No, but I have to find Wyborne. You remember him, don't you?"

Mr. B nodded, "Of course. You don't think I would forget a person like him, do you? Besides, beets are good for the memory."

He loves beets, Coraline remembered. "I need to speak with him immediately," she told the old man in the bed. He took a while to answer.

"I'm tired. I can tell that you are also. Wouldn't it be good to wait until morning for this?"

"No, you don't understand. My daughter-"

"Will be fine. But you won't be if you don't get some rest. You need sleep."

As her former neighbor said the words, Coraline realized he was right. She had gone at least forty-eight hours without sleep. She needed either coffee, an energy shot, or sleep, and she knew which one would be the easiest to get. She would continue her search first thing in the morning, when she was rested, refreshed, and ready to face Wyborne.

"Alright," she told him. "If it's sleep I need to help me find her, then it's sleep I'll get."

"Good, good." said the soft voice of Mr. B. "Henrietta will show you where to sleep..." His voice faded, and deep snores began emanating from the bed.

Coraline looked around. Had he hired a maid to assist him in his old age? She thought that-

"Begaaawk!" The sound came from a chicken. It was staring up at Coraline.

"You must be Henrietta," Coraline sighed. "Mr. B said you would show me where I can sleep."

The chicken led her to another small room. It had an old military cot on the wooden floor. Suddenly, Coraline felt as though she couldn't take one more step without falling into a deep sleep.

"Goodnight, Henrietta," she mumbled, as she collapsed onto the cot, which, compared to the wood floor, was soft.

"Begawk!"


End file.
